Dangerous Game
by Aerys Eli
Summary: Meg was the first one into the cavern after Erik left. She's heard tales of the Ghost since she was a child, but can she believe the pure and simple truth? Things are harder than they seem.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera. Does anyone think I do? Good. None of you are that daft. The characters and locations in this story are not of my own inventing.**

**Dangerous Game**

It felt as if ice had closed around her legs; the costume breeches she wore did little to stall the bitter cold of the water she found herself wading through. Behind her, the shouting and cursing had diminished slightly into more of a fearful, tremulous silence. Meg shivered slightly, goose bumps springing up on her skin. Even this far below the theatre, she could still smell the acrid smell of the smoke from the burning seats and stage. At least Mére was out of there. She was somewhere down here, with Raoul. Meg could still hear her mother's voice echoing in her head. _"Let me come with you!" Meg had begged. _"_No Meg, you stay here. Come Monsieur…"_

Meg hurried to the front of the group. Everyone was driven by a combination of bloodlust and curiosity, though Meg was simply worried about her mother and Christine.

It was beautiful. The mist floating across the water top was low enough that it didn't shroud any of the glory of the room. Gold glimmered in the light of the multitude of candles. Red velvet curtains hung heavy on the stone walls and light refracted off the shards of broken glass on the floor. But none of the glory distracted her for more than a moment.

She ran ahead of the policeman and leapt up the stairs, looking for anyone- the Phantom, Christine, Raoul, her mother- anyone. There was no one there.

Meg shook her head. She had to find Mére and Christine. Raoul if she could. She didn't care much about him, but he was dear to Christine. She hurried to the front of the group. They must be getting close.

There.

She gasped, taken entirely aback. This was the last thing she had expected to see. Maybe a cave, perhaps, even a set of monk-like rooms, but not this. It was beautiful. The mist floating across the water top was low enough that it didn't shroud any of the glory of the room. Gold glimmered in the light of the multitude of candles. Red velvet curtains hung heavy on the stone walls and light refracted off the shards of broken glass on the floor. But none of the glory distracted her for more than a moment.

Meg sloshed ahead of the policeman and leapt up the stairs, looking for anyone- the Phantom, Christine, Raoul, her mother- anyone. There was no one there. But there must be something… She spun, searching for a doorway. Ah! Sprinting through the opening, she slowed almost immediately.

It was his bedroom. It had to be. A great bed sat stately against the wall, hung with black curtains and laid with crimson silk. On a table nearby sat a queer little monkey figurine, eerily banging cymbals together rhythmically. And there, next to it…

Meg knelt reverently and reached out. She hesitated slightly as she felt smooth porcelain meet her fingertips. Then she gritted her teeth and picked it up. It was simple-perfectly proportioned to fit the right half of a face. He was gone. She stood, struggling to comprehend that fact. Her own feelings surprised her. Meg would have expected any one of a variety of emotions—relief, fear, shock—but not this. She actually felt sad. It was as if she had just discovered the disappearance of a childhood friend.

Mére had always been closed lipped about the 'Opera Ghost' but growing up with someone gives you a certain talent for picking up things. She always managed to let something slip, be it a sigh or a quiet comment about a certain 'someone'. When Meg was very little, she had thought her mother was referring to Meg's father, but by the time she was six, she knew that that was impossible. Her father was dead and her mother never spoke of him. Ever. It was a simple matter to connect her mother's murmurings with the rumors that ran wild regarding the mysterious 'Phantom'.

And now he was gone, along with her beloved Opera House and what had been her life.

She quietly set both the mask and the monkey in a square of silk cloth from the bed and wrapped them securely. Christine wasn't here. Neither was Mére. Meg had a sudden premonition that perhaps she shouldn't be here either.

No one paid the slightest attention to the blonde girl slipping back through the grating and up the passageway. They were all to busy arguing over the possessions the Phantom had left scattered across the chamber.


End file.
